The Better Side of Me - Jerry Cole Page 0,18

he’d made the right choice in coming here.

This whole thing, really, was on account of Kirk Little. Somehow, he had managed to make Lance believe in himself in a way that no-one else ever had before. He had shown real interest in Lance’s business idea and pushed him to give it another try. He even helped Lance get started!

For that entire day afterwards, Lance went to work on his protein-smoothie bar. He broke the concept down, looked at each individual piece, and then built it back up again. He created make-shift budgets, suspected costs, and even long and short term projections. He had no idea how accurate these all were, but at least now he’d have something to say when Abraham started firing off the questions like a World War II turret operator.

By the time Lance was done, he was riding on such a high that he didn’t even bother scheduling another meeting with Abraham. Instead, he stormed into the manager’s office and demanded that he be listened to.

“You’re going to sit back, open those ear-holes of yours and actually listen to me,” Lance had ordered when he strode toward Abraham’s desk. Abraham had been deep in some sort of meat sandwich, mouth half-full and overflowing.

“Hhmmpphh?”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to talk with your mouthful,” Lance quipped. Then, before Abraham had a chance to do or say much of anything else, Lance launched into his new and approved pitch without delay.

He told Abraham how much he would need to start the shop up, how many customers he hoped to secure in the first month, what each would be paying, and how long it would take to see profit. He told Abraham the long-term goals, his plans to franchise, and his desire to take Hercules Gym with him into the new age. He told Abraham, in no uncertain terms, that he would be an absolute fool to turn such a magnanimous offer – Kirk's word— down.

And, lo-and-behold, Abraham agreed... but with one, single caveat that really put a damper in the whole thing. He couldn’t afford it. “And I want to, really, I do!” Abraham’s cheeks wobbled as he nodded his head. “But if those numbers are even half accurate – and I’m giving you some leeway, cause you’re a pretty boy and I know you screwed them up. But even if they’re close, there is no way I can afford to cover it. Invest? Potentially. But that’s about it.”

The dejection that followed Abraham’s announcement was short lived. Instead, the now cheery manager suggested that Lance take his business venture to the bank and secure a loan. Abraham would be happy to put forward ten percent of what was needed, and the rest could be covered by the bank. It was brilliant! With the exception of one obvious problem.

“The bank isn’t going to give me a loan,” Lance pointed out as soon as Abraham suggested the idea.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a personal trainer with zero assets and a huge credit card debt – I mean, I’m me and I wouldn’t even loan me the money. That’s how bad it is.”

“Huh...” Abraham frowned and scratched at his no-chin. “What then?”

In the end, Lance ended up going to a loan shark who he found through Carlo. Well, not through Carlo per say. But through a guy that Carlo trained who knew a guy that had an address. It was about the sketchiest thing that Lance had ever done and the moment he walked into the basement dwelling of the Russian loan shark, he regretted his decision.

The man was just so darn intimidating... purposefully so. He was short, and fat, and hideously ugly. But this only worked to make him even more terrifying. One look at him and Lance was certain this guy had committed murder before... and that he probably would again! His office itself had no natural light to speak of and was blanketed in a constant cloud of cigar smoke.

What was most odd about Alexander, however, was his fascination with ancient artifacts, in particular vases and pieces of pottery. The hallway on the way to the basement had a small display of ancient vases, and the room itself featured another five. For the briefest of moments, Lance actually thought of Kirk, the history professor. But then he remembered where he was.

Alexander was holding a white and orange painted flower vase in his hands. It was the one he had asked for Lance’s opinion on. An answer which was less than satisfactory. “It